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.P94 B4 
1903 
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The Beggar's Garden 



THE BEGGAR S GARDEN 



The 
Beggar's Garden 

BY 

RUTH LAWRENCE 

Author of ** Colonial Verses" 
ILLUSTRATED 



*' I made gardens and orchards and 
set them with trees of all kinds." 

The Book of Wisdom. 



Bt\a porli 




BRENTANO 


'S 


1903 





Copyright, 1903, by Brentano's 



•■...■-' -^1 O^ ".C'Tir.. r'nS 



?5^5i3 



■ 7 (? L r •] I ' ' 

1^03 



THE HEINTZEMANN PRESS BOSTON 



TO 

M. %. €. 

^^ Sleep! with the sunshine qf Fame on thy slumbers. 



CONTENTS 

The Beggar's Garden 1 

The Orchard 4 

Lilinau 6 

The Brook 10 

A Dream 13 

Truest of the True 15 

We Fed the Swans 18 

Retrospect 20 

Think, Love, of Me 22 

The Reason 24 

The Swing 32 

Yes, I Recall 35 

Who is Queen? 36 

Hampton Court 38 

Haying 42 

Exile 44 

Arlington 46 

Dawn 50 

A Letter 51 



Althea 


53 


Revery 


56 


The Song of Songs 


69 


Lexington Day 


61 


Along the Shore 


63 


The Miser 


65 


When 


67 


Mulberry Street 


69 


Minstrels of the Meadow 


73 


Gold 


75 


April 


78 


Sweetheart of the Sea 


81 


The Inquisition 


83 


Beyond 


91 


Echoes 


93 


Sweet Savoy 


95 


The Spendthrift 


97 


Suffolk Fields 


98 


I Love to Wander 


100 


Our Valiant Volunteers 


102 


Firelight 


104 


Leave Me to My Dreams 


105 



THE BEGGAR'S GARDEN 

In royal closes, the pallid roses 
Through shine and shower in prison pine, 
The lilies languish, in passive anguish. 
And blossoms perish upon the vine ; 
The wan carnation feels a sensation 
Of vague vexation, or dull despair; 

On moor, on mountain. 

By fell and fountain, 
I own a garden of light and air. 

A garden rarer, a garden fairer, 
Than e'er was fashioned for any king. 
Where nature's treasure, in thriftless measure, 
Is flung unruly and rioting. 

1 



The soft wind blesses, with fond caresses, 
The sun's bright tresses by dawn unbound, 

Its wayward kisses 

Have blent their bhsses 
With all the magic of scent and sound. 

When buds are blowing, and meads are glow- 
ing, 
And countless wonders begem the sod. 
From 'neath the thatches, despite my patches, 
I wander gladly to dream of God. 
The blooming hedges, the crimson sedges. 
The rocky ledges, where harebells sweet 

Are ever ringing. 

Will set me singing 
Though I fare sadly with weary feet. 

I crave no riches when all the ditches 
Are clad in color, and flowers throng 
To every by-way that meets the highway, 
When wold and woodland resound with song. 
Forsaking sorr9w, I heed no morrow, 



But gaily borrow a fortune free, 

Of heaven's lending, 

Till time unending 
All earth's a garden for waifs like me ! 



THE ORCHARD 

Tell me, did you ever climb 

When the spring was in its prime? 
When the apple bloom was white, 

And the peach a pink delight, 
When the quince, and plum, and pear. 

Flung their flowers everywhere? 

Tell me, did you ever climb 
In the mellow summer-time? 

When the cherries glowed like gems, 
Set on slender silver stems. 

Basking in the sun-kissed breeze 
That swept inward from the seas? 



Tell me, did you ever climb 

When the autumn shone with rime? 

When rennet, pippin, greening. 
From brimming branches leaning, 

Blinked and beckoned, like new joys 
Wrought for idle girls and boys? 

If, the leafy boughs among. 

You have never climbed and swung 
With the oriole and thrush, 

In the orchard's noonday hush — 
When with dreamers they hold tryst — 

My poor friend — what you have missed 



LILINAU^ 

(A legend of the American Indians) 

Where is the lovely Lilinau? 
Now that the maidens form a ring 
'Neath the pines, when the sun dips low, 
To laugh and prattle, dance and sing. 

Now that the maidens form a ring. 
On mossy banks with flowers abloom, 
To laugh and prattle, dance and sing. 
Waking to life the woodland gloom, 

On mossy banks with flowers abloom, 
When the light dies, and skies are cold, 
1 Reprinted by courtesy of Collier'' s Weekly. 
6 



Waking to life the woodland gloom, 
In measure sweet is the story told. 

When the light dies and skies are cold, 
Comes the tale of a princess fair — 
In measure sweet is the story told — 
With sparkling eyes and shining hair, 

Comes the tale of a princess fair, 
Wandering beneath the listless trees, 
With sparkling eyes and shining hair, 
Drinking the sighs of the lisping breeze. 

Wandering beneath the listless trees. 
She with strange longing did rejoice, 
Drinking the sighs of the lisping breeze, 
She heard afar a lover's voice. 

She with strange longing did rejoice. 
Alone, beside the shifting shade. 
She heard afar a lover's voice. 
With hope, by joy made half -afraid. 



Alone beside the shifting shade, 
Betwixt the moonhght and the gloom, 
With hope, by joy made half -afraid, 
She spied a graceful tossing plume. 

Betwixt the moonlight and the gloom. 
The magic voice crooned sweet and low 
(She spied a graceful tossing plume) — 
" Come hither, gentle Lilinau ! " 

The magic voice crooned sweet and low. 
She turned, this daughter of a king — 
" Come hither, gentle Lilinau ! " 
Her glad heart mute with wondering. 

She turned, this daughter of a king. 
And followed on through vale o'er hill, — 
Her glad heart mute with wondering, — 
She fled across the meadows still. 

And followed on through vale o'er hill. 
From rain to shine, from east to west, 

8 



She fled across the meadows still, 
Seeking, in vain, the tossing crest. 

From rain to shine, from east to west. 
She watched the seasons come and fade, 
Seeking, in vain, the tossing crest; 
Loving a shadow, luckless maid! 

She watches the seasons come and fade, 
'Neath the pines when the sun dips low, 
Loving a shadow, luckless maid! 
Where is the lovely Lilinau? 



THE BROOK 

What does the brook say to you, 
At dawn when it flushes, 
And kisses the rushes, 
With murmurs and blushes? 
As it sings. 
Does it tell you of wonderful things. 
Till you think every wish must come true? 

For I do — 
What does the brook say to you? 

What does the brook say to you. 
When the sun hangs its head, 
When the west is all red, 

10 




THE BROOK 



And the day is near sped? 

As it flows; 
Does it promise surcease of all woes, 
Till you thrill with a hope that is new ? 

For I do. 
What does the brook say to you? 

What does the brook say to you, 

When the moonlight in streams, 
Like a shower of dreams, 
On its dark surface gleams? 

As it sighs « 

Does it bring faltering tears to your eyes. 
Till you long for forgiveness to sue? 

For I do. 
What does the brook say to you? 

Love, does the brook say to you. 
In the dark, in the light. 
In the day, in the night. 
In despair, in delight. 
As it rolls, 

11 



That one are our hearts and our souls, 
For life, and eternity too? 

For I do. 
What does the brook say to you? 



12 



A DREAM 

Last night I dreamt I crossed an amber sea, 

In jewelled shallop, with a samite sail. 
And following the moonbeams' burnished 
trail, 
I reached an isle of rarest fantasy. 
Where lyric winds swayed each enchanted 
tree, 
O'erhung with fairy blossoms, fragrant, 
frail, 
Through fields of spice and sandal groves for 
thee 
I searched ; I called — the echo was a wail ! 

I woke, with joy, beneath the straw-thatched 
eaves, 

13 



Saw, through the humble casement of my 
room, 
The orchard with its coronal of bloom. 

And heard the gladsome gossip of the 
leaves ; 
The vesper sparrow, heralding the day. 

Told me that thou wert scarce a league 
away. 



14 



TRUEST OF THE TRUE^ 

To the page of history 

Proud we turn to-day, 
Heroes to the memory 

Throng in brave array ; 
Stern and sad or gallant gay, 

Clad in buff and blue, 
As they fought and fell, alway 

Truest of the true. 

In the cause of liberty. 
Weary was the way; 

1 Written for the Sons of the Eevolution,' and read at 
their meeting, on the one hundred and sixteenth anni- 
versary of the adoption of the Declaration of Independ- 
ence, at White Plains, July 9, 1892. 

15 



Rich or pinched by poverty, 
One and all came they. 

To their country's wrong allay 
Fearless swords they drew, 

Gave both love and life away, 
Truest of the true. 

When will prose or poesy 

Half their worth portray.'^ 
Faithful to eternity, 

Proof 'gainst sorrow's sway. 
Trials, tears, and dark dismay 

Ne'er such hearts subdue. 
Link the myrtle with the bay. 

Truest of the true. 

While for the prosperity 

Of our land we pray. 
Let the tear of sympathy 

Tender hearts betray. 
Freedom's burning stars display! 

Thrill the ages through 

16 



With a never-ending lay, 
Truest of the true. 

Envoy 

Friends, though oft the footsteps stray. 

Be — whate'er you do — 
Worthy of their names, for aye 

Truest of the true! 



17 



WE FED THE SWANS 

We fed the swans that drifted by, 
Blue were the water and the sky, 

We floated idly past quaint lawns. 

Greened by a thousand dews and dawns, 

That fading centuries defy. 

And both were silent, you and I, 

No faltering question, vague reply — 
True sympathy vain language scorns — 
We fed the swans. 

Did outward calm our thoughts belie, 
As when the summer sun on high 

18 




WK FED THE SWANS 



With fickle gold the earth adonis. 

Whilst a faint cloud a storm forewarns? 
We dared not speak, and that is why 
We fed the swans. 



19 



RETROSPECT 

My first remembrance? Of a village street 

Where elm and sycamore bestowed their 
shade, 
A patch of garden lavishly arrayed, 

A shingled dwelling, lichen covered, meet 
For such a setting ; auburn fields of wheat, 

A fallow pickle, and a tangled glade 
Through which a runnel to the river strayed, 

A royal progress, amid blossoms sweet. 

An orchard, brave in its audacious green, 

With wealth of vergaloo and demascene; 
And over all the sky's unfading blue, 

20 



With God's own sunshine ever laughing 
through. 
Beyond, I thought, another country lay, 
And, bless you ! that is what I hope to-day. 



21 



THINK, LOVE, OF ME 

When in the greenwood the mavis is singing, 

I think of thee; 
Thy voice through my soul like an echo is 
ringing, 

Think, love, of me ! 

When to the night stars I sadly am sighing, 

I think of thee; 
Thou art my star, heaven's glory defying, 

Shine, love, on me! 

When on the white sands the billows are break- 
ing? 

I think of thee; 

22 



Dream of my dreams, be I sleeping or waking, 
Think, love, of me! 

Though Fate and Fortune our footsteps may 
sever, 

I think of thee; 
I am thine own, thine only — forever ! 

Think, love, of me ! 



23 



THE REASON 

Scene: A tapestried salon. The Marquise 
is seated hy the -fire. The door is opened 
hy a lackey^ and the Count enters, carrying 
in his hand a hunch of roses. The lackey 
withdraws, and the Count, advancing with 
a bow, offers the roses to the Marquise. 



'Tis thirty years to-day since first we met. 

SHE 

Can you remember? 

24 



THE RtAt>UN 



'-if? 



HE 



How can I forget! 
You ruled the world by beauty. 

SHE 

You by wit. 



Mock not, 'twas but a sorry counterfeit. 



'Twas at Versailles, and all the world was 
there. 



HE 



Yes, all that France accounted great or fair 
Had gathered in the Allee where the trees 

Wrought royal screens of verdant filigrees, 
Where lilies gleamed and roses were a-blow, 



25 



Drenched in the mellow sunset's amber glow. 
And where within the grotto's deepest 
shade 
Rippled the music of the clear cascade. 
The pawns that meet and mingle in Life's 
game, 
Knave, poet, prelate, statesman, soldier, dame, 
Were through their petty parts manoeu- 
vring. 
Awaiting the arrival of the King. 

Attended by your lord, upon his arm. 
You came, the very essence of all charm. 

In robes of silver tissue shot with green. 
The nymph of day-dreams, spirit of the 
scene. 
And as you came, there fell a sudden 
pause — 
That mute expression of intense applause; 
The Spanish Envoy straightened his lace 
ruff, 
The lynx-eyed Cardinal smiled and took some 
snuff, 

26 



Then nearly every woman wore a frown, 
Glancing in apprehension at her gown. 



SHE 



You were the first to greet me, to advance, 
Leaving a group that held the Flower of 
France, 
Upon your breast three orders shone like 
stars, 
Your face, though young, was seamed with 
battle scars, 
Belying both the courtier's subtle grace, 
And foppish fripperies of gold and lace ; 

And as you greeted me the Duchess sighed. 
The Princess bit her lip, and turned aside. 



HE 



My eyes met yours a moment wondering; 
Then was announced the coming of the King. 

27 



SHE 

Within a month your fame was on each 
tongue, 

HE 

While north and south your beauty's praises 
rung. 

SHE 

'Twas ere your duel in the Place Royale — 



And ere your Minstrel's famous madrigal, 
Within a year your Minstrel sought the 
tomb — 



Your Duchess chose the convent's peace 
and gloom. 



28 



Unlike the Princess, who for weary years 
Strove to rekindle fires quenched with tears. 

HE 

Another year, and then your lord was sent, 
For treason, far from France in banishment. 
Then Beaucaire, vexed and wincing 'neath 
your scorn — 

SHE 

Formed with the Princess, hopeless and 
forlorn, 
A plot, to undermine you it was said. 

HE 

She lost her temper, 

SHE 

And he lost his head. 
{A long pause, during which they both 
gaze into the fire.) 

29 



HE 



The withered spectres of both love and 
hate 
Lie in the ashes of what men call Fate — 
Far in youth's distance on Time's long- 
lost rim, 
Like shadows that the dawn hath rendered 
dim, 
They fade, and one by one each image 
wanes 
Till all are gone, and only one remains. 
Dull skies or bright, be my mood grave or 
gay, 
I seek your shrine with roses every day. 
When birds are wooing Spring beneath the 
eaves, 
Or when the rustic binds his golden sheaves 

I come, as faithful as the patient sun, 
Yet not to shine, but to be shone upon ; 
Often I wonder, with a vague unrest, 



30 



Whether your speech or silence please me 
best, 
You rule alike the present and the past, 

Why should your power alone thus change- 
less last? 

SHE (smiling) 

I am, as your devotion long has proved, 
The only woman you have never loved ! 



31 



THE SWING 

In memory a valley gleams 

With limpid lakes, and silver streams, 
Where dreams come true, and fancies play 

On far, fair fields of yesterday. 
There nestles safe an orchard old, 

With leaves of green, and fruits of gold. 
And 'neath the boughs, where creepers cling. 

There hangs a ragged, rustic swing. 

We went swinging, 

To and fro; 
Swinging, singing. 

Fast and slow ; 

32 



Echoes ringing, 

High and low, 
Singing, swinging 

Long ago. 

When mere and mead were kissed by June, 

When bosk and brake rang loud with tune. 
When hay was mown, and sheaves of com 

Were dabbled with the dews of dawn ; 
When bronze and crimson, russet brown, 

We shook the harvest apples down. 
Or, when the Spring with olden wiles 

Coaxed from earth responsive smiles; 

We went swinging, 

To and fro; 
Swinging, singing, 

Fast and slow ; 
Echoes ringing. 

High and low. 
Singing, swinging 

Long ago. 

33 



Changed our lives, like shifting weather, 

Since the time we swung together. 
With severed steps, o'er winding ways. 

We wander far from childhood's days. 
Yet, though hope for aye be banished. 

And our joys with grief have vanished, 
Shadow-land is near in seeming, 

I remember when I'm dreaming. 

We went swinging, 

To and fro; 
Swinging, singing, 

Fast and slow ; 
Echoes ringing. 

High and low. 
Singing, swinging 

Long ago. 



34 



YES, I RECALL 

Yes, I recall the time when first we met, 

'Twas summer and the fields were all aglow, 
The garden gleamed with roses white as snow. 

That blushed to crimson when the red sun 
set; 
The wan, shy lilies that the wind did fret. 

Swayed in a magic rhythm to and fro, 
Yes, I recall that golden long ago; 

My heart throbs to its far-off music yet. 

Yes, I recall the sacred hush of night. 

The fickle moonbeams glancing on the sea. 

Tracing a pathway to the realm of light. 
Where sorrow's sting was powerless to pain. 

Yes, I recall that dream of dreams again. 
That land of promise lost to thee and me! 

35 



WHO IS QUEEN? 

I do not care who is Queen, 

When the woods and hills are green, 
When the birds shout overhead. 
When the harvest sun glows red, 
And the summer's math 
Paints the dappled strath 
With riotous gold, when skies are blue, 
If in the meadow I roam — with you. 

I do not care who is Queen, 

When the ocean's crystal sheen 

Is blurred by a veil of spray, 

Through which white ships slip away 

36 



Over liquid miles 

Unto spice-steeped isles, 
When crisp with tang is the breath of sea, 
If you are out on the dunes — with me. 

I do not care who is Queen, 

If blank and bleak be the scene, 
Or if prodigal showers 
Of tropical flowers 

Bewilder the gaze, 
The senses amaze. 
If foul or fair be wind and weather, 
If only we can be — together. 



37 



HAMPTON COURT 

The faded scrolls of Time unfold 
Series of swiftly shifting scenes, 
Like fragments of a tale half-told 
And many a restless shade convenes; 
They tell of great and little things, — 
Secrets with mirth or passion fraught. 
That made the lives of men and kings. 

At Hampton Court. 

Through quaintly carved door and room. 
In corridor, upon the stair, 
'Twixt tapestries of stately gloom, 
We idly wander here and there ; 

38 



HAMPTON COl KT 



We greet the portraits set a-row, 
These counterfeits of beauty wrought 
By nimble brushes long ago 

At Hampton Court. 

The gallery where antique staves, 
Attesting to the mistrel's art, 
Rang out alike for saints and knaves. 
To please the mind, to touch the heart, 
Where some grew famous in a breath. 
Where some were sold and others bought. 
Where some faced life and some won death. 

At Hampton Court. 

The gardens where rare flowers among 
The brave have sued, the fair have sighed. 
Where envoys schemed and pages sung. 
Decrees were granted or denied. 
Where Cecil counselled Good Queen Bess, 
And where, beneath a show of sport. 
The human heart ached more or less. 

At Hampton Court. 

39 



How many strove to rise and rule, 
How many fell who dared to rise, 
The churchman, soldier, and the fool, 
The fribble and the overwise. 
Each had his part, his share of toil ; 
They planned and plotted oft for nought. 
With quill, with flattery, or foil. 

At Hampton Court. 

As on the shining stream we gaze, — 
The stream that shall e'en Fate outrun, — 
Or ramble through the tangled maze. 
Or watch the dial mark the sun. 
Within a long-lost world we seem, 
While threading labyrinths of thought ; 
We hnger in a waking dream 

At Hampton Court. 

The centuries have dawned and died. 
Some men have sealed the page of Fame, 
While others, perished with their pride. 
Have left no record, scarce a name; 

40 



Frail hands have crumbled into dust 
That sceptres swayed, and empires sought, 
And yet, untouched by blight or rust 

Stands Hampton Court. 



41 



HAYING 

O come, ere the gates of the west 
Are closed by the touch of the night. 
While wanders the bird from its nest. 
While breezes are frolicsome, light. 
And sunbeams are glittering bright; 
Leave care and dull sorrow, I pray, 
The leaves whisper words of delight. 
The rustics are making the hay. 

We'll over the green mountain's crest. 
Where breaks the blue sea on our sight. 
Of laurel and heather in quest. 
And seek the anemone white; 

42 



While thus reading nature aright, 
Our footsteps returning will stray 
To meadows, with flowers bedight. 
Where rustics are making the hay. 

The valley shall charm you to rest, 

Oblivion there will invite. 

Sweet dreams may your slumbers invest. 

All evil thoughts then shall take flight. 

Your sorrows, or weighty or slight, 

The even-song soft will allay. 

As footsore the work-weary wight 

Turns homeward from making the hay. 

ENVOY 

Love, come, ere the dark, like a blight, 
The gold of the skies steals away. 

Ere shadows the roses aff^right. 
The rustics are making the hay. 



43 



EXILE 

Moonset, and all the world is fast asleep ; 
The stars are shrinking and the night is done. 
A primrose pallor, herald of the sun, 
From utmost east to utmost west doth creep, 
As flickering and white the waters sweep 
In on the purple sands ; then one by one 
The truant waves, that playmate waves out- 
run. 
Leave silver traceries beside the deep. 

This symphony of color, sea and sky. 
The waking beauties that before me lie, 
I heed not, for my thoughts are far away, 

44 



Where thou art watching the declining day ; 
Thine absence, in some distant sun-steeped 

land, 
Makes me an exile on my native strand. 



45 



ARLINGTON 

Beneath the blushing Easter skies 
The ripphng river gleaming lies, 
A blue reflected paradise; 

As rapt I gaze, 
The distant city greets my eyes, 

A golden haze. 

The bending birch, the patient pine. 
Like stalwart soldiers of the line. 
Stand sentinels above a shrine. 

A fine faint breeze 
Slips through the polished ivy vine 

And stirs the trees. 



46 



ARLINGTON 



The violet, the royal rose, 

Their wondrous wealth of sweets disclose, 

Fresh from the fetters of the snows, 

And o'er a tomb, 
Wherein our dauntless dead repose, 

Flins: shrouds of bloom. 



'to 



In silent state on every side, 
They, who the woes of war defied, 
They, who for kin and country died, 

Whose trust we keep. 
Through shade and shrine, the nation's pride. 

Lie locked in sleep. 

They set their names on history's page. 

The trifler and the sober sage, 

Who did their swords and souls engage. 

For faith and truth ; 
Some sank to rest in hoary age 

And some in youth. 

The annals of those stormy days, 
The poet's sobbing silver lays, 

47 



The martyr's mingled palms and bays, 
Shall tell their fame, 

And each cold stone shall mutely praise 
A hero's name. 

The names that all our land holds dear, 
That as the summer stars shine clear, 
Whose lustre brightens year by year 

An honor roll, 
That from our childhood we revere, 

A sacred scroll. 

The silent, unrecorded slain. 

Those countless links in honor's chain, 

Awake our hearts to keener pain. 

The brave unknown. 
Whose names are lost, whose deeds remain 

To speak alone. 

O Motherland ! While far and free 
Floats thy fair flag o'er land and sea, 

48 



Green ever may the glory be 
Of thy great sons. 

Yet nearer, dearer still to thee 
Thy nameless ones. 



49 



DAWN 

Aurora bids the buds awake, 
And sends the winds abroad to play, 
To croon the rose a roundelay. 
To rouse the cricket in the brake; 

To ruffle up the placid lake, 
And trick the fields for holiday. 
Aurora bids the buds awake 
And sends the winds abroad to play. 

The willow waves its mantle gray. 

The almond boughs 'neath blossoms quake, 

They hail the coming of the day ; 

With drowsy sweets the lilacs shake ; 

Aurora bids the buds awake. 

50 



A LETTER 

I write thee only that " the day is fair," 

That " the syringa blooms beside the gate," 
I tell thee that, " the lilac's precious freight 

Lends to the world an unnamed incense 
rare," 
That " music's essence quivers in the air," 

That " butterflies upon the roses wait ; " 
Thus do I write enough, and rest aware 

That, with a nimble wit, thou canst trans- 
late. 

Were I to filch some sage's cryptic phrase. 
Some minstrel's subtle stave of promise, 
praise, 

51 



And blend them in an offering to thee, — 

A quaint mosaic of all imagery, — 
Or coin a word that might my thought ex- 
press, 
Dost think that I would love thee more — 
or less? 



52 



ALTHEA 

On the rim of the past I can see, as I gaze 
Down the lengthening vista of vanishing days, 
The quaint httle porch, fairly smothered in 

flowers, 
O'er which tumbled vines in the greenest of 

showers. 
As I came from the pasture where, drenched 

with the dew. 
The saucy young mushrooms in myriads grew, 
My basket of osier I'd fill and return 
To sit in the porch and see Althea, churn. 

In a blue printed gown and a shabby straw 
hat, 

53 



She would sing as she worked while in silence 
I sat 

And whittled and dreamed of the far-away- 
town, 

Where a gypsy predicted I'd gather renown. 

The kitchen within droned a querulous clock, 

In the farmyard without croaked a drowsy 
old cock, 

And both bid me go, fortune's favors to earn, 

As I sat in the porch and saw Althea chum. 

As with rhythm the splasher now rose and 

now fell, 
I was lulled by its music like one 'neath a 

spell. 
And far on the highroad of fancy did 

stray. 
Unheeding, unknowing the lands where it 

lay. 
For sweet were the lilt and the story it told, 
While the butter was wrought to a marvel of 

gold, 

54 



My pulses would throb and my temples would 

burn, 
As I sat in the porch and saw Althea churn. 

My friends of the moment would smile in 

surprise 
Could they know how I long for the free 

country skies, 
Cool orchards that noontide finds dusky with 

bloom, 
And the truants of sunbeams that sift 

through the gloom. 
For here, in the city, oppressed by the din. 
The fret and the fever, the struggle to win, 
Very often I sigh, very often I yearn 
To sit in the porch and see Althea churn. 



55 



REVERY 

A valley, like a garden, fertile, fair, 
Its golden fields with ripening grain aglow, 
Where iris blue and poppies crimson show, 
Blent in a tapestry beyond compare; 
The scent of hay hangs on the drowsy air, 
The elder blossoms, whiter far than snow. 
Their scarves of filmy lace wave to and fro, 
And birds are singing, singing everywhere. 

A clear, deep lake that shines, intensely green, 
Flattered by winds that sweep the mountain- 
side. 
The silver willows on its rim abide, 
And almonds and laburnums intervene, 

56 




■*•«■■ 



KKVKRY 



Linking their boughs in a fantastic screen, 
Around its edge the purple shadows ghde, 
And phant rushes stoop to kiss the tide, 
Veiled by a shifting haze of rainbow sheen. 

The mountains, ridge on ridge, and crest on 

crest, 
Changeful, yet changeless since the world 

began. 
Defy the ravages of Time and Man ; 
That everlasting silence we call rest- 
Has set its seal upon them, curst or blest, 
No conjurer can raise or rend the ban. 
Dim cycles wane, each watching a brief span, 
The flushing and the fading of the west. 

O valley, where the youth of nature gleams, 
O fields, where one might wander all day long. 
Drenching the soul in sunlight and in song, 
O lucent lake, O sighing woodland streams. 
Lisping earth's secrets, lilting unknown 
themes, 

57 



O thickets, where the feathered minstrels 

throng, 
O mountains, mute, eternal, stately strong. 
If you could only give one back one's dreams ! 
Aix'les-Bains. 



68 



THE SONG OE SONGS 

There's a song that is sweet when trees 
Are kissed by a passing breeze, 

When the lilt of the laughing leaves 
Is echoed by rustling sheaves, 

But, the sweetest of strains belongs 
To love — in the song of songs. 

There's a song that is sweet when streams 

Tinkle of vanishing dreams, 
When the mavis croons on the spray. 

Of a dear, dead yesterday, 
But, the sweetest of strains belongs 

To love — in the song of songs. 

59 



There's a song that is sweet at sea, 

'Tis a lusty melody, 
Like the clang of the chanting chimes, 

It teUs us of far-off climes. 
But, the sweetest of strains belongs 

To love — in the song of songs. 

All the angel anthems blending, 

Their music never ending, 
With earth's mellow murmurs meeting, 

The sweets of sound completing, 
Are harsh, to the note that belongs 

To love — in the song of songs. 



60 



LEXINGTON DAY 

O day of days ! Bring forth the bays 
Grown in a garden gory! 
Let loyal lays sound loud in praise 
Of Lexington — and glory ! 

When women wept, men's pulses leapt, 
Defying King and Tory ; 
They forward stept, to battle swept, 
For honor and for glory. 

With Truth for shield, they took the field. 
The lad and goodman hoary ; 
They would not yield, their fate was sealed 
For God, and home and glory. 

61 



They suffered blame, and rose to fame, 
Their crown a nation's story ; 
And thus we claim a sacred name 
Won for our flag — Old Glory. 

AiX'les-Bains. 



62 



ALONC; THE SHORE 



ALONG THE SHORE^ 

Along the shore, now out, now in, 
With listless sob, with ceaseless din — 
As they did centuries ago. 
The wayward waters ebb and flow, 
Leaving a line of silver thin, 

To mark where ripples bright have been, 
On the sea's edge, where lands begin. 
They break, they seethe, they murmur low 

Along the shore. 

So on Life's shore, to lose or win, 
Struggle without, subdue within. 
To rise through hope, or sink in woe, 

1 Reprinted by courtesy of The Churchman. 
63 



striving — though bhnd — God's will to 

know, 
Man falters, seeking rest from sin, 

Along the shore. 



64 



THE MISER 

I am a miser, and from year to year 

With cunning care my treasures store away 
Deep in my heart. I note not fading May, 

Nor waning summer, with regretful tear, 
Nor frosty, frowning winter, bleak and drear. 
The changeless changing of the night and 
day, 
When Joy and Grief, for life, like game- 
sters play. 
Brings me no thought of loss, no qualm of 
fear. 

Each trivial action and each trifling word 
Of thine, that ever once my pulses stirred, 

65 



Though they be dross, I guard as purest gold $ 
Mine are they all, mine only, mine to hold, 

To cherish with my soul till dust be dust. 
Forever safe alike from thief and rust. 



66 



WHEN 

When April spills 

Her daffodils 

Upon the margin of the lawn, 

With sprightly wiles, 

With saucy smiles, 

The lagging Winter flouts to scorn ; 

Unfurls the fronds. 

And frees the ponds 

Long gyved in frosty filigree; 

In quaint demesne 

Of woodland green 

Hangs blossoms bright on every tree ; 

67 



Drives out the herds 

And bids the birds 

Their secrets unto man proclaim; 

Oh, then, my dear. 

From far and near, 

I hear the music of thy name! 



n. 



When crimson yarrow tricks the wold, 
I think the year is growing old ; 

And when the violet I spy, 

I think that spring is drawing nigh. 

When hedges blush with eglantine, 
I think the joys of earth are mine. 

When each and all of these I see, 
I think of thee — I think of thee ! 



68 




AlULBKllKV STltEK'l' 



i !;i'i . Y!|;!-|}u; i!/: 




c (^ 



MULBERRY STREET 

Where tottering tenements lift toward the 

And tides of humanity surge rolling by, 
All sorts and conditions of people you find, 
A beggar that's lame, and a beggar that's 

blind, 
A juggler, a fiddler, a dancer — in green — 
Who laughs as she tosses her harsh tam- 
bourine. 
And peddlers, with push-carts, convene to 

compete. 
To barter and bargain in Mulberry Street. 

In open-air market, where buyers with ease 
Can find what they fancy from hardware to 
cheese, 

69 



The vendors of dress-stuffs, fruit, fish, shoes 

and lace, 
Will furnish both fashion and food for the 

place, 
'Mid clamorous voices of young and of old, 
While pale children whimper, all ragged and 

cold; 
In fine days, or foul days, in sunshine or sleet. 
There's chatter and clatter in Mulberry 

Street. 

The dull pastry-shop with confections ar- 
rayed, 

And Mr. McKinley in sugar displayed. 

Is cheered by a parrot, who, preening his 
wing. 

Reviles Giovanni, who " served with the 
King!" 

Now Carlo, the barber, is crossing his 
breast, 

A hearse comes in sight which is bearing to 
rest 

70 



A world-weary pilgrim whose task is complete, 
The mourners are marching down Mulberry 
Street. 

The small store, with bread wrought in won- 
derful rings, 

With onions and sausages festooned in 
strings. 

Is kept by fat Rita, who stands knitting socks. 

Next door Nina leans o'er a dim window-box 

To coax a geranium tarnished with blight. 

By sharp rains that blister, or sun-shafts that 
smite. 

When the fierce furnace blast of summer's 
red heat 

Sweeps through Paradise Park and Mulberry 
Street. 

In dingy and rickety attics that frown 
On traffic and toil, at this end of the town. 
Ambition, love, hate, the whole gamut, in 
fine, 

71 



Of human emotions, conflict or combine; 

Some hearts sing with mirth, others groan 
with despair. 

They ache and they break as they do — other- 
where : 

Thus comedy, tragedy mingle and meet 

In the hurry and scurry of Mulberry Street. 



72 



MINSTRELS OF THE 
MEADOW 

In the clover, 
Dreaming — wide-awake — I'm lying, 

While a rover,. 
Dusty bee, is o'er me flying. 
All around the grass is sighing. 

Hark! the cricket! 
Then the tree-toad's clear note ringing 

In the thicket, 
From afar the linnet singing 
To his mate, in silence swinging. 

Beetles droning, 
'Mid the murmurs of the mowing; 
Meadows moaning, 

73 



To the sound of cattle lowing, 
Till my heart is overflowing. 

Man's songs are sweet, 
With magic mingled melody, 

Cunning, complete. 
But they seem sharp and false to me, 
Compared with nature's minstrelsy. 



74 



GOLDi 

You men who work from sea to sea 

All our country through, 
Under the flag that flutters free, 
Its burning stars and field of blue, 

You want no coin but gold, gold, 
Gold, as in days of old, 

You want no coin but gold. 

Our fathers in the nation's youth 

For us fought and fell, 
They worked and won their way by truth. 
They proved their metal passing well, 

For they had hearts of gold, gold, 

1 Prize Campaign Ballad. Reprinted by courtesy of 
the N. Y. World. 

75 



Gold, in those days of old, 
For they had hearts of gold. 

You farmers all that till the earth, 

'Neath the sun and rain. 
Prosperity, the child of worth, 
Shall turn the fairest of your grain, 

To sheaves of brightest gold, gold, 
Gold, like our dreams of old. 

Shall turn your grain to gold. 

All you that toil 'mid city's din. 
From the dawn till night, 

Take heart and strive the day to win, 

And change the darkness into light, 
A light with rays of gold, gold, 

Gold, like the sun of old, 
A light with rays of gold. 

Speak ! while your pulse is all aglow 
For the cause you love, 

76 



And pray the winds of heaven bestow 
Their boundless blessings from above. 

Speak ! let your speech be gold, gold, 
Gold, like the sage of old. 

Speak ! let your speech be gold. 

Both high and low, and grave and gay, 

Harken to this song. 
And may its simple strain convey 
A lesson that is clear and strong, 

A link in the chain of gold. 
Gold, from the mines of old, 

A link in chain of gold. 

Thus guard the honor of your land. 

Honest hearts and hands 
Keep faith, for hearth and home demand 
The care of patriot bands 

Whose standard shall be gold, gold, 
Gold, like a shield of old. 

Whose standard shall be gold. 



77 



APRIL 

** Have not the rains 

Greened over April's lap ? " 

— Keats. 
Hail! April comes again, 
Once more on silver wings, 
Her heralds, sun and rain. 
Fall gently on all things, 
And o'er the waking world a mantle green 
she flings. 

Hail! now, for death is o'er. 
Nature no longer sleeps, 
More radiant than before 
The happy violet peeps 

78 



From out the frost-bound earth, which still its 
treasure keeps. 

Hail! in harmonious strain, 
The thrush and linnet sing, 
And the dark woods again 
With glorious music ring; 
All joyous is the world freed by the touch of 
spring. 

Hail! the winsome flowers 
Lrcap from the verdant earth, 
'Mid the shine and showers. 
The authors of their birth. 
Clad in gladsome hues they join the general 
mirth. 

Hail! to the sparkling stream. 
The winter ices' chill 
Held, as in a dream, 
When all the world was still, 
Now in a torrent bold it rushes down the hiU. 



79 



Hail ! to the coming hours, 
Attuned in sweet accord, 
The sunlight which embowers 
All we have thus adored, 
Blessed, thrice blessed, be their Maker and 
our Lord ! 



80 



THE SWEETHEAllT OF THE SEA 



SWEETHEART OF THE SEA 

(Mount Desert) 

O happy island of plain and highland, 

Where all the beauties of earth convene, 
When day is breaking and man awaking. 

Thou hast no rival 'neath heaven, I ween. 
Thy clear lakes twinkle, thy bright springs 
tinkle, 
Gay vines besprinkle thy purple hills, 
Thy verdant valleys 
And arching alleys 
Resound with echoes of thy rippling rills. 

No song nor story can tell thy glory 

When on thy stern shore the tempest raves, 

81 



Thy rugged red rocks repel the rude shocks 

And flout the fury of wanton waves. 
But, when the day's calm thou hast a strange 
charm 
That brings the soul balm, and thus it 
seems 

Beneath the sunlight 
Or when the moon's white. 
We ever crown thee sovereign, isle of dreams. 

Thy birches shiver and hemlocks quiver 

When sweeps the salt wind among the trees. 
Both dell and dingle their perfumes mingle 
When fanned and fondled by southern 
breeze ; 
Thy grace appealing to man's best feeling, 
God's work revealing, turns grief to glee, 
Through ages smiling. 
For aye beguiling. 
Still shalt thou reign as sweetheart of the sea. 



82 



THE INQUISITION 

" L' Amour et la fum^e 
Ne peuvent se cacher." 

Scene: A Garden. The Countess and the 
Marquis are seated upon a stone bench; 
he holds a skem of silk which she is wvnd- 
mg, 

MARQUIS {aside) 

As to her suitors I would know 
The way that favor's wind doth blow. 
{Aloud) No Cavalier nor bad nor good 
Can charm you from your widowhood? 

COUNTESS 

That question you have asked before ! 

83 



MARQUIS 



Yes, I am turned inquisitor. 
Cousin, what think you of Le Beau? 

COUNTESS 

He's well enough, a trifle slow, 
Albeit of the truest worth, 
Becoming both his rank and birth. 

MARQUIS (aside) 

'Tis said no man his mark may hit. 
When striving 'gainst a woman's wit, 
The truth of that we soon shall see. 
(Aloud) What think you of St. Clair.? 

COUNTESS 

Marquis ! 
A musty sage, a scholar deep. 
Pace with whose studies none can keep. 

84 



MARQUIS 

Then there's Vitrj? 

COUNTESS 

A country clown! 

MARaUIS 

Bertrand? 

COUNTESS 

A monk without the gown, 
Smile as chilly as the cloister, 
Voice a very paternoster. 

MARQUIS 

Rohan ? 

COUNTESS 

Too young! 

MARQUIS 

Fleury? 
85 



COUNTESS 

Too old ! 

MARQUIS 

Beaucaire ? 

COUNTESS 

Bashful! 

MARQUIS 

Sabran ? 

COUNTESS 

Too bold. 

There is not one to suit, you see, 
I'm very hard to please, Marquis. 

MARQUIS 

Glanville, pray you answer truly? 

COUNTESS 

I appreciate him duly, 

A pearl unpolished, uncut gem. 



He's better far than all of them. 
Rough? If you will, but good and true. 

MARQUIS (aside) 

She loves him not. I wish I knew. 
(Aloud) Count Faille, the last, I'd quite for- 
got. 

COUNTESS (dropping her ball of silk) 

Cousin, you know I like him not ! 

MARQUIS (picking up the ball of silk) 

Indeed, I though him to your taste. 
He is a gem — 

COUNTESS 

Of Spanish paste .^^ 

MARQUIS 

A valiant soldier — 

87 



COUNTESS 

Is he brave? 
MAuauis 
Far f ram a fool — 

COUNTESS 

How, more a knave? 
MARauis 

At least his wit you'll not deny? 

COUNTESS 

The sting of it doth satisfy. 

MAuauis 

And then his eyes ! Of such a hue ! 
88 



COUNTESS 

Are they — not brown ? 

MARQUIS 

No, Countess, blue. 
Beauty of figure and of face, 
All talents met to lend him grace, 
A coaxing voice, a strong sword-arm — 

COUNTESS 

And yet for me he has no charm. 

MAEQUIS 

With Glanville must my questions cease? 
Leave Faille the sport of your caprice, 
Wearing the willow to his cost.^* 

COUNTESS 

Betwixt us twain no love is lost. 
89 



MARQUIS (rising) 
Riddle unsolved, I go my way ! 

COUNTESS 

Pray you, why not longer stay? 
End your learned disquisition. 
And resume the inquisition? 
(Aside) Who at the Court would have be- 
lieved 
The wily fox could be deceived. 

MARQUIS ( aside ) 

'Tis Faille you love without a doubt. 
Sweet hypocrite, I've found you out. 

COUNTESS (aside) 

You see it takes a woman's art, 
To hide the secrets of her heart ! 

90 



BEYOND 

Beyond night's rim, beyond the edge of day, 
The farthest hills, the limits of the sea, 
I wonder, dearest, dost thou think of me? 
Thou art so far, so very far, away. 
And yet I feel so strangely near to thee, 
'Neath shifting skies that pale from gold to 

gray. 
Through calm, through storm, my faltering 

footsteps stray. 
Upon the highroad to eternity. 

And thou, my heart's true heart, my soul's 

own soul. 
Wilt thou dispel the shadows of the past, 

91 



When I have crossed life's span, and gained 

the goal, 
When weary I have reached thy side at last? 
Wilt thou turn all earth's discord into song 
By saying, " I have waited for thee long? " 



92 



ECHOES 

The sleeping world awoke with May, 

The throstle on the vine was swinging; 

Bright blossoms tricked the bending spray, 
And through the meadows we went singing. 

Light winds the tender leaves did sway, 
The sunbeams fickle flecks were flinging 

Betwixt the boughs in green array, 

While through the meadows we went sing- 
ing. 

The osier wands were silver gray. 

Gold lichens to the rocks were clinging; 

93 



The red-tipped starling piped at play, 

When through the meadow we went sing- 
ing. 

'Mid sylvan sweets we long did stray, 
Around our path the daisies springing. 

Our hopes were high, our hearts were gay — 
Thus through the meadows we went sing- 
ing. 

O vanished dream ! O long lost day ! 

Your echoes in my soul are ringing; 
A shadow fell across our way, 

As through the meadow we went singing. 



94 



SWEET SAVOY 



SWEET SAVOY 

O sweet Savoy, the legend days of story, 
That live forever in the minstrels' lays, 

Ring loudly with the echoes of thy glory, 
Thou lover's garden which the poets praise. 

Thus, sweet Savoy, as idly I stand dream- 
ing 
Of thy lost sway that circled other climes. 
How proudly are thy stately banners 
gleaming 
Through the dim twihght of forgotten times. 

Then, sweet Savoy, thine were the bravest, 
fairest, 

95 



Whose lance and lute ne'er felt the blight of 
rust, 
In chivalry and courtesy the rarest 
Were they whose laurels mingle with the dust. 

Now, sweet Savoy, thou art an exile pining 
In hostile halls where chains of bondage fret, 

Whilst like a royal jewel thou art shining 
In alien crown, by hand of conquest set. 

Yet, sweet Savoy, thy beauties are undying, 
Around thy hills the mists of romance cling. 
The coldest stranger leaves thy valleys 
sighing, 
Thou bartered birthright of an ingrate 
King! 



96 



THE SPENDTHRIFT 

When unto thee a verse I would indite, 
I am bewildered and of words bereft, 

For, if thy praises I but half recite, 
Love's lexicon hath not one accent left ; 

A rosy dawn, with shafts of silver cleft, 
The scent of amber, or an azure night. 

Or music conjured by some minstrel deft. 
Describe not nor express thy sweetness quite. 

In thee reign all the virtues duly blent, 
As in a chaplet divers gems are set, 

Each being but the other's complement. 
So graciously and aptly have they met; 

Thus language falls in tatters and I 
pause — 
A spendthrift of all words in thine applause. 

97 



SUFFOLK FIELDS 

The Suffolk fields, for summer dight 
In gold and green, are gleaming bright, 
The meadow lark, with soul attune, 
Lilts liquid lyrics unto June, 
Along the lane, to left and right, 

The elder blossoms greet my sight. 

And locusts droop their plumes of white; 

With russet ricks of hay are strewn 

The Suffolk fields. 

To dusky brake, and sandy dune. 
The wayward winds their secrets croon. 

98 



The mellow mantle of the night, 
With blinking fireflies alight, 
Will shroud in silent sleep full soon 

The Suffolk fields. 



LofC. 

99 



I LOVE TO WANDER 

I love to wander idly by the sea, 

To watch the white gulls wheeling, fearless, 
free, 
When blue the billows glitter like sapphire. 
The sun burns like an opal fraught with 
fire. 

Lost in the mystic maze of memory, 
I love to wander idly by the sea. 

When on the dunes the silver beach grass 
waves. 
And sands of amethyst the water laves. 

When amber weeds lie stranded on the shore. 
Soothed by some lilting lullaby of yore, 

100 



m 



LOVE TO WANDER 1J)LV ilY THK SKA 



a Y.mi 



I love to wander idly by the sea, 

That tells the secret of all time to me. 

When in the essence of its magic sound, 
My mind, my heart, my soul are steeped 
and drowned, 

Then I forget the world, and all — save thee ! 
I love to wander idly by the sea. 



101 



OUR VALIANT VOLUNTEERS ^ 

Hark ! to the sound of fife and drum ! 

Hark to the deafening cheers ! 
Adown the street they proudly come, 

Our vaKant volunteers ; 
Both young and old, as they pass by, 

Breathe blessings on them all ; 
The men who do, and dare, and die, 

To answer duty's call. 

Unlike the troops of kingdoms old, 

That fight for greed and gain, 
They give their youth, their strength, and 
gold. 

To stem the tide of pain ; 

1 Reprinted by courtesy of the N. Y. World. 
102 



As freemen they would set men free, 

And seek for no applause; 
They bear the gift of liberty, 

They aid a holy cause. 

Returning we will call one brave. 

With honor crown his days. 
And mourn one in an unknown grave 

Who won a deathless praise. 
Or soothe a cripple left to pine. 

Maimed in the battle grim. 
The swiftly, smoothly moving line 

Makes eager eyes grow dim. 

Some have houses and spreading lands, 

With all that wealth imparts ; 
Others have only fearless hands. 

But all have — freemen's hearts ! 
Attention ! forward ! Strike and win ! 

They march away from view. 
The hostile guns their ranks may thin. 

But ne'er their souls subdue. 

103 



FIRELIGHT 

I sit within the ingle-nook to-night, 
The moon is withering before the cold, 
The earth is weary and the year grows old; 
The subtle magic of the firelight 
Summons sweet visions to my wondering sight, 
The flames their cherished secrets do unfold. 
Tales long since ended, others yet untold, 
Now fade, now flicker, amid embers bright. 

I think I hear the lisping of the seas. 
And birds that babble in the budding trees,^ 
Like precious fragments of forgotten dreams, 
I picture plain and upland, fresh with 

streams. 
To me, the golden, glowing, gleaming blaze 
Is sunshine — treasured from lost summer 

days. 

104 



LEAVE ME TO MY DREAMS 

" Out on Wisdom ! " sung the sage, 
" Sorrow dearly bought, 

Tears to trick time's restless page. 

With dull pain 'tis fraught, 

Lesson far too quickly taught, 

Writ in many themes. 

Wisdom, all thy wealth is naught — 

Leave me to my dreams ! 

" Men have toiled from age to age. 
Followed thee through thought. 
Nation's sleep, and conflict's rage, 
For thee fallen, fought 
Both in open field and court. 
Blinded by thy beams ; 

105 



Thou hast strange confusion wrought, 
Leave me to my dreams ! 

" None my reahn can bound or gage, — 
Land where fancies sport, — 
I, a pilgrim from earth's stage, 
Distant countries sought. 
Gained at last a fairy port. 
Laved by lisping streams ; 
Wisdom, life is very short. 
Leave me to my dreams ! 

" Friend, when hope is all distort, 
Worthless as it seems. 
Vision-land be thy resort; 
Leave me to my dreams ! " 



THE END. 



106 



NOV 27 1303 



